


counting

by gamux



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 20:32:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3424625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamux/pseuds/gamux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been two days, seven hours, forty two minutes and sixteen seconds since you realised you love him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	counting

It’s been 30 days since she left.

Not that you’ve been counting.

No.

That would imply you cared.

It’s been 25 days since he found you.

You only remember dim flashes from those five days.

You hadn’t eaten or slept, drawing sustenance from your magic until it depleted and the energy to even stand abandoned you. Before that happened there was just red. Angry, fiery, - painfully familiar - red.

Tendrils of darkness had fled from your vision as a phantom hand and the disembodied voice that accompanied it shook you from your haunted reverie. You’d opened your eyes and focused them briefly on the shadow of a person before your body gave up again and they rolled back in their sockets. The voice had become more panicked before you blacked out.

It’s been 23 days since you woke up in his arms.

You’d awoken sore, tired and incredibly confused, temporarily comforted by the familiar surrounding of your bedroom, alarms bells set ringing again upon noticing the stranger that slept beside you, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist.

You’d scrambled away, tangling yourself in the sheets in your haste. Your frantic movements had woken him as well. It had taken him a few moments of yawning and looking around before his eyes shot wide open and he jumped out of the bed and retreated to the far wall, empty palms open and held up in a non-threatening manner, apologising hurriedly and throwing excuses for the situation in between the rapid fire of meaningless words.

You’d dismissed the constant stream of sorry’s, suggesting he leave, and quickly. He’d agreed, pulling on his shirt and smoothing down his hair as he moved to the door, peppering a few more apologies your way before he finally left, door closing shut with an echoing click behind him.

You’d had mere moments to contemplate the slight tingle his hands had left on the skin of your hips before a merciful wave of sleep washed over you, taking firm hold of your arms and legs and pulling you down, down, drowning you in deafening silent black.

It’s been 20 days since he first returned.

He’d turned up on your doorstep casually, smiling brightly even after you shut the door in his stupid face time and time again. He was too persistent for your liking. You’d tried, Notch help you had you tried, but he seemed no less deterred. You’d relented, in the end, too tired to bother anymore.

You’d observed him the entire day, watching him closely as he scurried back and forth, patching up your broken abode, clearing out the shattered glass and cleaning up the lava - you’d healed his foot when he so clumsily burnt it, if only to get him on his feet again so he could leave when such an opportunity arose.

And such an opportunity did, thankfully, grace you. He’d left with the setting sun, wishing you a good farewell and waving. You hadn’t wished him the same.

It’s been 18 days since his second return.

He’d knocked on the door, as best one could when it opened when you stood in front of it. You’d grudgingly rolled yourself out of bed, tearing yourself from the sleep you had sorely missed, and muttered an invitation inside to him.

He’d fussed over the still crumblings ruins of the once great stronghold as you’d come to suspect was the norm for him. At one point he’d turned on you, commenting on your dirty hair and unwashed face. You’d told him, as politely as you could manage, to fuck off.

He’d given you the same wave and good-wishing farewell. You still hadn’t wanted to offer him the same.

It’s been 17 days since you discovered something strange about him.

He’d invited himself over, again, and finished rebuilding the stronghold. You’d wandered the long corridors and big empty rooms, lost in what used to be or what could’ve been, long after he’d - supposedly, as you came to find - left, when you heard a shout.

A familiar banging on the door, which you’d managed to open just before the creepers blew. They’d hissed at the door menacingly for a few moments, then scuttled off, back into the darkness from whence they were born. He’d stumbled into the unlit front room, tripped on something - his own feet, you’re sure - and landed in your arms, sending you both crashing heavily to the ground.

You’d been - somewhat pleasantly? - surprised to find his eyes glowed with a blue sheen in the dim light. He’d tried to move and get off you, and you’d only spared a brief thought as to why he wasn’t, before the thought was clouded by blue the same shade as his eyes, and it was only when he cleared his throat and pointed it out that you realised you’d been keeping hold of his arms.

There’d been an awkward apology, continued by an awkward silence, followed by an awkward offer to stay the night, and concluded with an awkward walk up to the second floor. You’d let him go up the stairs first, and observed him discreetly as he climbed. His legs and hands shook, sweat dripped down the back of his neck, his eyes - his glowing, brilliant, blue eyes - darted back and forth doggedly, searching out invisible enemies in the shadows that curled in the edges of his vision.

You’d heard him yelp when he reached the top step and he stumbled backwards, and you’d caught him again, grunting under his weight as you tried your best to keep your footing. A spider had clicked at you from the top step, staring you down with all eight of its beady, hated-filled eyes. You’d drawn your sword and cursed your - or was it hers? - decision to leave the enchanting room exposed to the elements.

You’d ushered him into the bedroom, no time to waste, zombies stalking from the shadows further along the corridor, where the other - your - bedroom sat alone, gathering dust and, apparently, a manner of parasites. He’d fallen into your arms for the third time that night, willingly now, clinging to you and shaking all the while, mumbling things you could only catch confusing snatches of. You’d resigned yourself to soothing him, petting his hair and whispering supportive nothings into the dark until a troubled sleep claimed you both in her inky grasp.

It’s been 14 days since the voices talked to you.

They’d never given you any sort of warning sign. One second you’d been enjoying the peaceful sounds - the screaming of mobs burning in the sun - of a new morning, the next second you’d driven yourself to the brink of insanity in the blink of an eye, pondering the whisper you swore you just heard.

_Rythian._

They sang.

_Poor, poor, Rythian._

Taunting.

_Alone again._

I know that, you’d muttered back at them, at nothing, at yourself.

_She left you._

Shut up, you’d whispered, deathly quiet and deadly serious.

_It was all a joke!_

Shut up! you’d repeated, growling, hands balling into fists at your sides.

_She never loved you._

And it was there, right there, right in your ear and you could hear the truth in that wispy voice and it upset you and infuriated you and scared you, you’d tipped your head back and brought your hands to your ears.

SHUT UP! you’d shouted, lashing out, hearing the satisfying crunch of wood underneath your hands, not feeling and knowing the pain would come later. The pain always came later.

You’d woken your unfortunate guest. You’d shrugged off his questions and made no complaint when he announced he’d stay for the day and try to fix everything he’d missed in his previous attempt at reconstruction.

Several times you’d startled during the day, catching faint whispers of something, something strange and unusual that you hadn’t heard before. He’d been humming. Singing softly under his breath as he toiled away. You’d recognised immediately that the words were not human but gave it no further thought, delighting in his lovely voice and the way it calmed you like ice on a burn.

They’d sought vengeance in the night, filling your poor, tired head with the same chant, the same hurtful truth.

_She left, she never loved you, she’s gone and you’re alone._

_She left, she never loved you, she’s gone and you’re alone._

_She left, she never loved you, she’s gone and you’re alone._

He’d shaken you by the shoulders until you returned to the world of living, the last screams dying on your tongue as you regained consciousness. He’d questioned, intruding for an explanation, but you’d refused him one, or a truthful one at least.

Nightmare, you’d said. It was close enough.

He’d returned the favour you’d given the other day, calming touches and soft whispers, keeping you sane, keeping you safe from the torment of your own mind. You’d slept, albeit brokenly. Every time you’d awoken again he was always there, and you were so grateful he was.

It’s been 12 days since the voices came back.

_She left,_

He hadn’t been there.

_She never loved you,_

He hadn’t turned up that day.

_She’s gone,_

You’d found yourself sorely missing his presence.

_And you’re alone._

You truly had been.

It’s been 11 days since you went searching for him.

You’d been half mad in more ways than one when you’d stumbled out the door, already having wrecked a room or five in search of him, vision blurred, mind reeling, giving lip to the voices no matter how much it burnt your throat raw to spill the words forth. They’d just continued to mock you, swirling around your head like a storm cloud of bad memories.

It hadn’t taken long for you to drop.

It’s been 9 days since he found you.

Again.

You recall a similar scene playing out a mere 16 days prior.

You’d been a bit more conscious this time around, coming back to the waking world when he shook you, with just enough time to open your eyes and smile at him - you’d seen the smallest of twitches in the corners of his own lips - before you succumb to the exhaustion again.

You’d heard him exhale, rest his head on you chest and say something, but it was lost to the wind.

It’s been 8 days since you woke up in his arms.

Again.

And you’d been so grateful for the reassuring touch. He’d welcomed you back to the daylight, smiling serenely, before doing a 180 and frowning, snapping at you for being so stupid. You’d taken the insults with good humour, and he’d sighed after his tirade of worry, leaning heavily on you. You’d rested your head against his, a silent sorry.

He’d thrown a barrage of question at you after breakfast and you realised with a sigh that you’d probably have to finally tell him. So, you’d spilt. Everything. All about her, all about what was, all about what turned out. You’d left some things out. He didn’t need to know. Not yet.

It’s been 6 days since he kissed you.

You’d opened the door, much more welcoming than you had been, and he’d surprised you with his own special greeting - a kiss on each cheek. He’d swept past in a whirlwind of senseless chatter - you honestly didn’t care for the antics of his dwarf friend, much less the scientist - and you’d been left to stand dumbly by the open door, until it slipped from your loose grasp and slammed shut, snapping you from your flustered trance.

He’d noticed your red face and confused expression, and explained the custom from his home planet.

Alien culture was interesting. You hadn’t been the only one to spill secrets that night.

5 days since you noticed the lingering touches.

4 days since you noticed him looking your way when he thought your head was turned.

3 days since you noticed the extra little smiles he saved just for you.

It’s been 2 days since you realised you love him.

It’s been 1 day since you kissed him, and he kissed you back.

And now he lies in your arms, lost in the first peaceful sleep he’s had for a while.

You’ve stopped counting.

You wonder how many hours it’s been since you realised that for the first time in a while, you felt happy again.


End file.
